


Let’s hang out sometime

by FuryBeam136



Series: Whumptober 2020 but bad [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Whumptober, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:07:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26770366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuryBeam136/pseuds/FuryBeam136
Summary: Day one of whumptober 2020. Prompt: waking up restrained |shackled| hanging
Series: Whumptober 2020 but bad [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951480
Kudos: 2





	Let’s hang out sometime

The rustling jingle of chains. The clink of coin. Familiar sounds, to her. The steady clink, clink, clink, of her captor counting his pay. She sees none of it, a blindfold over her eyes and a gag in her mouth.

“I got more for her kind last time.” Rough, harsh tones. Her captor has seen his share of battle, if his rough voice and calloused hands are anything to go by. He holds her by the wrist, just below the shackles that hold her hands tight and still.

“And last time, the heron you brought us was docile.” The buttery smooth voice of someone taught to speak with elegance from birth. “This one has a fire to her.” Smooth, unworked hands grip her chin and tilt her head upward. She is at their mercy. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She learned magic so this wouldn’t happen. But here she is.

“I know a few people who would prefer it that way,” the rough man speaks up again. “I can get more coin than this from someone else. Want her or not?”

“Fine. We will purchase her.” More coin clinking as it is passed from hand to hand. Rough hands at her wrists are swapped for smooth ones. She thinks she is crying. It’s hard to say.

He removes the gag and the blindfold once they reach their destination. She stares with blank eyes at the manor before her, sprawling and pretentious. She tries to move her hands. The chains cut the movement short, dig into her skin.

“Want… go home,” she breathes, hoarse and pleading. And the face of a man, elegant in a way only overly pretentious beorc can manage, stares her down.

“This is your home now.” He speaks with a voice like the buttered pastries the chef used to sneak to her in one of the manors she’s been sold to in the past. It hurts to associate them with him. It hurts to be sold again.

It hurts even more to know she finally found a home, only to be torn from it.

“Please,” she says.

He doesn’t say a word, instead closing his smooth fingers around a loop of chain and tugging her into the manor. Old scars ache, her wrists and ankles bruised and blistered by the shackles. She cries silently, though she wants to scream.

She wonders if anyone will come for her, or if she is to be stuck here forever.


End file.
